Transatlanticism
by LittleMissBones
Summary: Written for Lost HoHoHo 2009, for UnidentifiedPineapples. Prompt: Richard meets Jacob for the first time.


**A/N**: Merry Christma-Hanu-Kwanza-kah, everybody!! UnidentifiedPineapples, this one is for you!! Enjoy!! Note that this does contain a very mild spoiler for season six, but nothing too big.

He's sailing the boat – well, not really sailing, standing next to the chap that was, and looking out at the bright blue sea. It is a peaceful day, mercifully, the nightmare of a typhoon come and gone. The wicked brew had set them a few miles off course, and in that same blow pushed back the mission to Siam several weeks, if not months. Glancing out again, he quietly thanks God for the calm of the sea, asking him to keep it that way for the rest of the voyage so he may reach home and his darling Isabella safely. He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice his first mate and the cartographer, Mr. Gates, coming up behind him, maps in their hands.

"Capitan Alpert?" The voice alone is enough to snap him from his thoughts, and he turns to the men, smiling and nodding as they point to the maps and explain their progress to him and exactly how far off course they are. As they're estimating how much longer it will take for them to get to Siam (two weeks more, about), the shouts of the men attract his attention and he glances up.

The first thing he notices (other than the fact that the clouds have increased, of course), is the statue. The gigantic, grey, _non sequiter_ statue. It has an unnatural face – one of a crocodile, but with a fully human body, holding two rings…wait, ankhs, in its hands. Then next thing he notices is that it's located on a sandy beach. And said beach is on an island that has seemingly just appeared out of nowhere. He turns to Mr. Gates, but even he doesn't know this island – what's curioser, it isn't even on the map. The first mate turns to him, concern and a hint of excitement in his eyes.

"Should we steer the ship away Captain?"

He looks at the first mate, who is excitedly staring at the new island, the potential for worldwide fame and fortune being weighed against getting to Siam – and consequently, home to Isabella, on time. He turns to Mr. Gates, asking for his advice.

The older man shrugs. "In all honesty, sir, I believe the best decision would be to keep going."

Then, almost as if providence is deciding against them, the clouds begin to rumble, the waves crash over the ship, lightning is heard and the rain begins to pour down.

The hurricane has come back with a vengeance, and they're right in the middle of it.

The ship pitches, rolls, turns, as if it's dancing with the waves, except with the dominating partner about to crush the smaller one. He's grasping onto whatever he can, as are the men who are left on the boat, slipping each time they attempt to get a firmer grip. The boat yaws and keels again, and he sees several of his best men, Mr. Gates included, losing their places and being swallowed whole by the pulsing waves. It happens again and again. And then there's a white light engulfing him. He knows this is the end.

Taking one last gulp for air (and hoping his lungs can hold out long enough to survive), he salutes the remains of his crew, then lets go.

Slipping.

Falling.

Cold.

Black.

* * *

He awakens, his head spinning, and wonders where he is. Why he's lying down. And why there is a large canopy of trees overhead, instead of just the simple blue sky he remembers. Then it happens. The storm. The _Black Rock_. Gates going overboard, the others trying to hang on. The white light that shone above him. Letting go. The cruel ocean water engulfing him. And everything going dark.

He attempts to bolt upright, but the splitting headache he experiences when he does so pushes him to do otherwise. He hears footsteps coming closer, and he's frozen, unable to move. He wonders if he'll see his wife again, or any of his crew. The footsteps keep coming. He squeezes his eyes shut, thinking _I managed to survive a near drowning only to be killed by an angry native_._ That's irony for you_. Suddenly, the footsteps stop, and he sees him. A man, dressed in white. He's staring at him with a serene face, as if he knows that he's supposed to be there. He struggles to find the words to say. Finally his tongue comes back, and he asks.

"Who are you?"

The man bends over, bright blue eyes peering into his brown ones, and smiles.

"Hello, Richard. My name is Jacob."

**A/N**: Hope you enjoyed this! And a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all!!


End file.
